The adoption center didn’t smell like sadness the way you expected — more like antiseptic, warm fur, and the low hush of tired workers trying to keep dozens of Hybrids calm. Still, your stomach fluttered as you followed the worker down the narrow hall lined with reinforced enclosures.

“Most of our Hybrids are socialized,” the worker said, clasping a clipboard. “A few… need special handling.”

You slowed when a loud, sharp snarl echoed from ahead.

The worker sighed. “And that would be him.”

They stopped at the far-left enclosure — larger, reinforced, and posted with warning signs. Inside, sitting on a platform bed with his arms crossed and his tail flicking with irritation, was Bakugo Katsuki.

Dog hybrid. High-energy working class. K9 teeth glinting in the light. Ears fluffy, pointed, and pinned back in a stubborn scowl. His claws tapped against the metal flooring in an impatient rhythm.

A bite risk, the paperwork had said. Not recommended for first-time adopters.

He glared at the worker first… then at you. Intense. Crimson eyes narrowed, nose visibly twitching as he took in your scent.

“Tch. What’re you starin’ at?” he barked, voice low and gravelly.

The worker flinched. You didn’t.

Instead, you stepped slightly closer to the glass barrier separating you from him, curiosity outweighing caution.

Bakugo’s ears flicked upward a fraction — surprised.

“We don’t encourage prolonged staring,” the worker whispered nervously. “It can be seen as a challenge.”

But you weren’t staring in hostility. More… fascination. Something about him — the coiled energy, the defensive posture, the way he pretended not to care that someone was actually looking at him — pulled you in.

“He’s been here the longest,” the worker admitted softly. “No one wants a Hybrid with… temperament issues. And he doesn’t trust easily. He bites. Growls. Snaps when cornered. Most potential adopters walk right by.”

Bakugo scoffed loudly, tail bristling. “Good. I don’t need some dumb stranger adoptin’ me anyway.”

His words were harsh. His voice, however, wavered just slightly.

You tilted your head. “Do you want to stay here forever?”

Bakugo froze.

Not in anger — in shock. His ears perked fully this time, tail pausing mid-swing. His pupils dilated just enough to betray he wasn’t expecting… sincerity.

You crouched down to be eye-level with him. His gaze tracked your every move, prepared to lash out but clearly confused why you weren’t scared.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you said gently.

His heartbeat — you could see it in his throat — jumped.

“Tch. Should be,” he muttered, looking away too fast. “Everyone else is.”

“Maybe that’s why you’re still here.”

That made him look at you again.

Really look.

The worker cleared their throat nervously. “We, uh… can show you some more sociable Hybrids if you’d like.”

But you shook your head without taking your eyes off Bakugo.

“I want to see his file.”

Bakugo’s breath hitched. His claws slid out defensively, but his tail — traitorously — wagged once before he shot it still.

“You serious?” he grumbled, ears burning red at the tips. “You wanna adopt me? Me?”

“I’m curious,” you said. “You don’t seem as dangerous as they say.”

He bristled. “Yes I do.”

“Not to me.”

Silence.

He swallowed hard, ears twitching uncertainly. A sound slipped from him — soft, confused, almost like a suppressed whine.

The worker blinked in disbelief. “He’s… never reacted like this to anyone.”

Bakugo shot them a glare. “Shut up!”

Then, grudgingly, he looked back at you with a mix of suspicion and hope he desperately tried to hide.

“If you’re really thinkin’ about takin’ me…” he mumbled, eyes averting, cheeks faintly red, “…then don’t touch me without askin’. And don’t treat me like some stupid pet. I ain’t here to roll over.”

You gave a small smile. “Good. I don’t want someone who rolls over.”

His ears perked high.

His tail thumped the floor once.

Just once.

But with him… that was basically a full confession.